


Delicate Matters

by KyloTrashForever



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anxious Ben Solo, Awkward Ben Solo, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Loss of Virginity, Neighbors, Virgin Ben Solo, Virgin Rey (Star Wars), Women's Underwear, silliness abound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 20:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18351248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloTrashForever/pseuds/KyloTrashForever
Summary: His senses trickle back in, and he realizes something is covering his face. Reaching, he snatches the gauzy material that he recognizes is lace of some sort, holding it out in front of him and squinting his eyes.What the fuck?He knows without a doubt, with one hundred percent certainty, that he did not have a woman here last night.So why the fuck is there a pair of women’s underwear on his face?In which something falls into Ben’s lap (or more accurately his face) that he didn’t expect.





	1. Say Something, Solo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erney007](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erney007/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Erney, who is so sweet it hurts, and deserves all the panty silliness. Thank you for such a fun prompt!
> 
> Prompt:  
> girl who live one floor above: there were anonymous panties falls on Ben balcony almost once a week. He later know somehow that all the panties belongs to Rey, the girl who lives just one floor above his apartment. Fluff and Smut please!
> 
> I changed things around just a tiny bit— but I hope the spirit is what you wanted! ❤️

* * *

 

He fucking hates ties.

Absolutely can’t stand them.

He tugs at the one that’s currently threatening to strangle him, the knot going loose against his neck, and feels as if he can breathe for the first time that day. 

 _Wear a tie,_ his mother had said. _Make a good first impression._

It’s an entry-level position, and he’ll more than likely be running the mail room (if they even _offer_ him the damn job), so he isn’t sure how spiffing up in a damn monkey suit will improve his chances.

He climbs the stairs begrudgingly, muttering obscenities under his breath because the super _still_ hasn’t fixed the damned elevator. He reviews the interview questions in his head, obsessing and picking apart his answers and _why the fuck had he named going to the gym as a hobby?_

He shakes his head, thinking to himself that next time he’ll just wear jeans. At least then, when he makes an ass of himself, he won’t be so fucking uncomfortable.

He notices the footsteps then, echoed skips against the concrete walls, and he glances up just in time to see her rounding the bend at the top of the next landing.

_Fuck._

Because this day wasn’t shit enough.

He swallows nervously, his steps now a little more clumsy as he is too mindful of his feet. He grips the bannister with more force than necessary, watching from beneath his eyelashes as she flounces down the stairs with a laundry basket gripped firmly under her arm.

He doesn’t mean to make eye contact, but it’s there now— the bright hazel connecting and her free hand is raising to let her fingers wiggle in a friendly wave.

_Say something, Solo._

Her hand stills when she notices he is blatantly ignoring her, and her brow furrows a little.

 _Say_ anything, _you big moron._

She averts her eyes, frowning now at his rudeness he didn’t even mean to portray, and brushes past him. He stills on the step just past her, lingering for only a second as he is struck with the urge to just throw himself down the fucking stairs.

Okay, maybe that’s dramatic.

He continues upward, scrubbing his hands down his face and mentally kicking his own ass because _why couldn’t he just say something?_

He doesn’t know her name— isn’t even sure what floor she lives on— but he’s seen her at least three times a week since moving in over the summer and not _once_ has he been able to talk to her.

He doesn’t know what it is about her that makes his tongue dry up like a day-old starfish out of water or his manners shrivel up and die, but he just _can’t_ seem to talk to her.

It doesn’t help that she’s achingly beautiful, or that she sometimes hums with her headphones in when she comes down the stairs. It _especially_ doesn’t help that it’s still hot out and she seems to have a penchant for cut-off shorts— no one should _actually_ have legs like that.

Maybe it’s just her in general. There’s something so… light about her. Carefree. Something he’s never been.

Not that it matters— since he can’t seem to utter a fucking word to her.

He shuffles into his apartment not long after, slamming the door behind him and sighing as he tosses the now undone tie across the room. He lets his head rest against the door, thinking about the god-awful interview and the botched attempt at making basic fucking conversation with a pretty girl and huffing out a sigh.

He could use a drink.

* * *

“I’m sure it went better than you think.”

Ben holds the phone to his ear, sipping at his glass and suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. He knows his mother _means_ well, but since she’s never been exactly _quiet_ about her disapproval of his major, he isn’t too keen on hearing her reassurances. 

“It was awful,” he sighed. “I am not expecting a call.”

“It’ll be fine, dear. You’re twenty-two. Plenty of time to enter the job market.”

“I’m sure Dad is eating this one up.”

He hears her click her tongue. “Don’t start. He’s proud of you.”

“Sure he is,” Ben mutters taking another sip.

Leia sighs. “What are your plans for the evening?”

_Get hammered and watch This Is Us even though I pretend I’ve never seen it._

“Probably catch the game, I don’t know.”

“Well,” she offers. “Don’t be too hard on yourself tonight. I know it’s frustrating doing all these interviews and not hearing back— but you just haven’t found the right fit yet. You’ll get there.” 

He recognizes her genuine sentiment, and he huffs out a sigh. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome. Call me tomorrow, we can have lunch.” 

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

They say their goodbyes, Ben hanging up the phone and tossing it on the couch. He’d known that finding a steady job right out of the gate with a communications degree wasn’t going to be a walk in the park— but after two months of job hunting, he’s beginning to feel frustrated.

His parents still half-think he picked the major just to piss them off. Expected him to become a lawyer or a doctor and fuck, he’s starting to wonder if they were right.

He takes another long swig, the liquor burning his throat and therein his disappointment also. He figures a few more glasses of this and by morning— he won’t even be pissed anymore.

* * *

His head has split open.

Sometime during the night his skull has actually come apart. That is the only explanation. The pounding in his head is what wakes him, throbbing behind his eyes that makes opening them a chore. He keeps them shut tight, the blinding rays of sun assaulting him even through his closed lids, and it comes rushing back to him what happened.

He knows his deck chair sits beneath him, knows he fell asleep in said chair after too many drinks, and now here he sits in the shameful light of early morning, mouth dry and still wearing his now-crinkled suit.

A real high point, to be sure.

When he finally allows his eyes to crack open, a red haze greets him— and for a moment he is alarmed by the scarlet cloud that hinders his vision. His senses trickle back in, and he realizes something is covering his face. Reaching, he snatches the gauzy material that he recognizes is lace of some sort, holding it out in front of him and squinting his eyes.

_What the fuck?_

He hooks his fingers into the edges, stretching the lacy fabric and realizing exactly what he's holding. He knows without a doubt, with one hundred percent certainty, that he did _not_ have a woman here last night.

So why the fuck is there a pair of women’s underwear on his face?

For a moment he can only stare at them, gripped with confusion and the lingering effects of too much alcohol. He leans up in his chair— an action that proves more difficult than it should be.

He looks around, his alcohol-addled mind thinking perhaps a woman is just hovering somewhere in the air, chucking her underthings at people, before he realizes that he’s being ridiculous.

Fuck, his head hurts.

He sits up from the deck chair, fisting the red lace in his hands and promising himself he will never drink that much ever again. He moves to stretch, his arms high over his head and his back popping with the effort— a night in this fucking chair taking its toll. He scrubs a hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes and stilling when his eyes catch a flash of color above him.

He sees it then, one story up and just a little further down from his own apartment. A thin cord strung out across a neighboring balcony from which _several_ lacy underthings hang.

Do girls really just hang their shit out where everyone can see it?

Surely this is the culprit. Maybe they fell from the line and fluttered down and over in the night. He glances at the red scrap in his hand, swallowing slightly. He never thought that _this_ was how he’d get his hands on a pair of woman’s underwear.

Just his luck.

It’s at least an hour later, Ben showered and slightly less of a walking garbage fire— that he finds himself leaning against his bar, sipping water and staring down at the underwear that are spread out over his bartop like a scarlet letter.

He could just throw them away. That’s probably what he _should_ do.

Only, his anxious brain has already conjured up the possibility that the owner of these _saw_ what happened to them. What if she came out onto her balcony and saw him passed out with her panties on his face?

What if she comes knocking on his door to find them? Is the protocol here that he should return them? If he doesn’t, does that make him some sort of pervert? Will she assume that he kept them for disgusting reasons?

His brain hurts thinking about it— or maybe it’s the hangover. 

_Shit._

* * *

He’s been standing in front of this door for an inordinate amount of time. 

He’s almost positive it is the right one, because he’d spent even _longer_ sitting on his balcony while counting the windows to try and determine which apartment the clothesline belonged to. It had indeed been just the floor above him, and there is almost no doubt in his mind that the one he’s standing in front of houses the owner of the underwear currently burning a hole in his pocket.

This is weird. Right? Anyone normal would have just threw them away.

_But what if she had come looking?_

And that’s the voice that led him here. He swallows around the lump in his throat, knowing without a doubt he is going to regret this experience.

He knocks on the fucking door.

He hears shuffling inside, a voice calling out that she will be _just a minute_ and he waits patiently as he feels sweat collecting at the back of his neck. He finally hears footsteps nearing, the sound of a chain being undone and a doorknob turning and suddenly it's wide open and she’s standing there.

_Her._

The girl from the stairwell.

The girl he can’t even say hi to in passing.

The girl whose underwear are currently sitting in his pocket.

She looks confused— with good reason, seeing as he’s never even _spoken_ to her and yet is now standing in her doorway most likely looking like a mental patient with his mouth hanging open and his eyes blown wide.

“Hey, you’re that guy.” 

_You mean the one who acts like a mute when he passes you? The one who forgets how to be a human when he’s anywhere remotely near you? That guy?_

He nods, scrambling for words. Always scrambling, around her. “Yeah, um. Hi.” 

 _Congratulations, Ben._ _You managed three words. Two and a half really— but we’ll allow it._

“Can I help you?”

 _Fucking Christ on a cracker he cannot just casually hand this woman her underwear. He cannot let her know he’s_ seen _them. He will die. Death by panties was not how he assumed he would go._

He says the first stupid thing he can think of.

“I thought this was the super’s apartment.”

She cocks an eyebrow, turning her head slightly. “No? He’s on the first floor.”

“Oh. That makes sense, I guess. I must have heard wrong. Sorry to bother you.”

He turns to go, having every intention of getting out of there as fast as he can, when she calls out to stop him.

“Hey, wait!” He halts, turning back to look at her, and she’s stepped halfway out the door, almost instinctively. “I have his number,” she offers. “If you want to call him? Save you a trip down.”

 _Say no. Do not go into her apartment. You will make an ass of yourself. It is inevitable._  

“That sounds great,” he hears himself say.

Fantastic. 

He follows after her like he is attached to a string that she holds, her door shutting behind him as he stands in her entry, taking in her apartment. It is very similar to his own, albeit undoubtedly more _lived_ in than his. Her apartment feels like a _home_ whereas his gives the vibe that well, yes, someone sleeps here.

She’s digging through her purse at her bar, brow knit in concentration until a look of triumph passes over her features as she pulls out a tiny card.

“Here it is.” She turns to hand it over to him. “So, what’s going on with your place?”

“Um, shower is on the fritz.”

“Bummer.”

He nods, thinking to himself that he’s lied to her _twice_ in the very first conversation they’ve managed to have. That can’t be a good sign. He holds the card in his hand, realizing that she will be expecting him to call. She’s looking at him kindly, waiting for him to do just that.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, feeling like a dick as he pretends to dial and puts the phone to his ear. He has a pretend conversation for all of thirty seconds, hating himself for every single one, and then he is handing the card back and stowing his phone away and she’s still just _smiling_ at him and what the fuck does he do now?

“Well, anyway.” He nods aimlessly, trying not to look as awkward as he feels. “I guess I’d better get going.”

“Oh.” Is he imagining it or does she look a little disappointed? “Yeah, I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, you know. In the stairwell at least.”

She grins at that, biting her lip a little and distracting him. “I’m Rey, by the way. Rey Johnson.”

He can’t help the way his nose wrinkles. “Rey? That’s unusual.”

She actually laughs. “It’s with an e, if that helps.”

“That’s pretty,” he muses, deciding it really is. He blushes slightly when he realizes he’s just thrown a compliment at her without thinking, but she’s still beaming away at him so he decides it must be okay. “I’m Ben. Ben Solo.”

“I guess that’s pretty, too.”

He feels his lips curling, her eyes saying she’s teasing him and he decides that’s _definitely_ okay. He realizes he is still standing in her entry, reluctant to go even though he’s said he would.

“So, how long have you lived here?” 

“Oh, forever.” She lets her eyes sweep across the room. “My foster mom left it to me when she passed a couple of years ago.”

“Fuck.” He immediately regrets asking. “I’m sorry.”

She waves him off. “It’s okay. Maz wouldn’t want me moping around, I promise you that. I do miss her though.”

“I bet.”

There’s a lull again, an obvious moment for him to get the hell out of there, but now that he’s here he just _can’t_ seem to leave. It doesn’t help that her underthings are still searing in his pocket, threatening to burn right through the denim.

An idea strikes him then, a terrible one more than likely— but it’s the only one he’s got. “Could I use your bathroom?”

“Oh, sure.” She frowns a bit from the abrupt subject change, but points down the hall and he brushes past her in search of it.

He knows exactly where it will be, this layout being the same as his apartment and he knows just _beside_ the bathroom will be her bedroom. It’s an awful idea, fucking _awful_ — but the door is ajar and he’s sure there will be a hamper or a drawer that he can’t just pull open quickly and rid himself of the lacy scrap in his pocket and hopefully never have to go through something like this again.

He glances back down the hallway, finding no sign of Rey, and he quickly slips past the open door into her bedroom. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the rumpled sheets at her bed, images of her sprawled over them creeping into his thoughts and breaking his focus. 

_Not the time for that._

He sees no hamper, but her dresser is just along the wall adjacent to the door and he quickly opens the top drawer with the intent to drop them inside. It takes three tries to find her underwear drawer, and for a moment he is distracted by the sheer _magnitude_ of the contents— _do girls really need this many pairs of underwear?_

He brushes those thoughts away, reaching into his pocket to tug out the red bit of fabric and feeling pleased with himself for having pulled this off. 

He’s just about to drop it into the drawer when everything goes to hell.

He hears her footsteps first, deafening even in their quiet padding and his heart rate picks up. _Fuck._ He’s been gone twenty seconds. Her hand appears at the door then, pushing it wider and stepping into her bedroom as she halts there, reeling by what she sees.

He can feel his mouth gaping open, at an utter _loss_ for what to say— knowing there isn’t any _possible_ explanation he can offer for what she’s seeing.

Standing over her open drawer, gripping her underwear… death is preferable.

He doesn’t know how many moments pass between them before she throws a vehement “ _What are you doing?”_ at him, but by then he’s devolved into full panic mode and he does the only logical thing he can think of.

He runs.

He drops the underwear like they’ve burned him (and for all intents and purposes, they have) and he brushes past her to move down her hall and our her door and he doesn’t stop until he is safely back on his own floor and inside his own apartment.

He slams his door shut behind him, sinking to the ground and crushing the heels of his hands against his eyes as nausea floods him. He doesn’t know whether to blame the hangover, or his own stupidity, or maybe the fucking universe, but he only knows one thing for sure.

He should have thrown the damned things away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so silly. 😂 I hope you’re laughing at least.


	2. Suck It Up, Solo

It’s been an entire week since the matter he’s deemed _the incident_ occurred.

For the first few days, he’d actually been afraid she’d send the super to his door— hell, the _police._ Could he really blame her? Everytime he thought about it he wanted to crawl under a rock somewhere.

He’s stayed in his apartment as much as he’s been able to, terrified to run into her in the stairwell unexpectedly. He’s considered fucking _moving_ at this point.

When he does leave, he makes sure to do so extremely early in the morning or late at night in hopes of missing her. It’s always strange when he successfully makes it down the stairs without seeing her, some mix of relief and disappointment.

Because despite his fantastic fuckup, a small part of him still wants to see her.

He thinks that’s the worst of all this, knowing he fucked up any chances of knowing her. Sure, his odds weren’t entirely favorable _before—_ but at least there had been some sort of _maybe_ lingering in the air.

That _maybe_ has long since been shot down and buried in a shallow grave of underwear.

Fuck.

He’s faced with a bit of a crisis, the main office calling him to tell him they’re holding a package downstairs, and this is the second day they’ve had to call and ask that he retrieve it.

His normal cowardly exit time is too early to stop by, and unfortunately they are shut up tight when he ventures out in the late hours of night like the villain that he is.

Which brings him to today.

It’s two in the afternoon. He’s determined this is a prime time to venture out. It’s after lunch, it’s before dinner, it’s a time when normal people would be working— surely he is safe.

He peeks into the stairwell like some sort of tiny woman in a horror film instead of the six plus feet of coward that he is. When it looks and sounds empty, he breathes out a sigh of relief. He moves down the stairs as fast as he’s able, feeling downright smug when he makes it to the office without any mishaps.

_This is fine._

He’s almost relaxed when he returns to the stairwell, package under his arm, feeling carefree— but he should have known better.

He doesn’t even make it one floor before he sees her.

For a moment they both just stand there, her on the landing above as he stands dumbstruck halfway up the steps. Then panic sets in, and he turns with the intention of going back the other way. Out the building if he has to. He’ll move back home and never look back. His possessions are now considered a noble sacrifice. Fuck it.

“Hey, get back here!”

God she’s probably one of those Krav Maga women, and this will be the day he gets his ass kicked by a girl. He should honestly just stop and let her do it. He definitely deserves it.

“ _Ben.”_

That’s right, she knows his fucking name. He pauses, thinking that he had somehow forgotten that little detail. If she’d wanted to retaliate, she’d had ample tools to do so by now.

But she didn’t.

He stands at the bottom of the stairs, his hand on the bannister and his back turned to her. He knows he deserves whatever ass-chewing she wants to give him, and he decides then it’s better to just get it over with. Then they can return to their lives where she just assumes he’s some sort of creep.

He turns slowly, as if facing his own death, and fuck it almost feels like he is. He can’t imagine what his face looks like— probably some blend of fear and outright mortification.  

She’s standing three steps up, arms crossed and brow furrowed as she stares down at him. “I think you owe me a massive explanation.”

He huffs out a sigh. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Are you just some sort of pervert? Do you like— collect them?”

“God, no.” He groans. “ _No.”_

“Then _what?”_ She looks wary, and he doesn’t blame her. “This really creeped me out.”

“I know,” he mutters dejectedly. “Look, I know this will sound crazy, but it’s the truth.”

She gestures that he continue. “Go on.”

“Okay, so. I got really drunk last week.”

“You were _drunk_ when you knocked on my door?”

“What? _No._ The night before.”

She frowns slightly, but doesn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

“Anyway,” he sighs. “So I fell asleep on my balcony.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“ _And_ you hang your laundry on a line outside, right?”

She grimaces. “How did you even get up that high?”

“Jesus. _No.”_ He huffs out a sigh, scrubbing his hands down his face in frustration. “I woke up with them on my face. As in, they fell. As in, it was an _accident.”_

“My underwear fell on your face.”

“Yes.”

She narrows her eyes. “How does that explain you rifling around in my drawer?”

“I wasn’t _rifling—”_ He takes a deep breath. “I counted the windows and found the apartment and thought I could just return them and it would be fine.”

“Okay, so why didn’t you just give them to me? Why the panty raid routine?”

“Because you opened the door and it was _you_ and I fucking lost any bit of common sense I had left.”

She cocks her head. “What do you mean _I_ opened the door?”

He shrugs his shoulders wearily. “I have been trying to say _hi_ to you fucking _weeks_ and I couldn’t even do that. How the fuck was I supposed to just _hand_ you _your_ underwear and expect you to believe me when I say it was a huge crazy mess? It doesn’t even sound believable to me _now_ and I fucking went through it.”

Her jaw works in thought, staring down at him with her hands now cocked on her hips and her foot tapping lightly. He can’t help but let his eyes pass over the bright yellow of her flowy top or the ragged edges of her _fucking_ shorts and he wonders if this will be the last time he’ll ever see them.

“You’re crazy,” she says finally.

He sighs, nodding. “Yeah. I know.”

“But you’re not a creep, are you.”

“Fuck, I hope not.”

She continues to stare after him for a long moment, finally nodding to herself. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He feels a knot loosen in his chest. “Really?”

“Yeah. Okay. I believe you.”

Relief courses through him, happy to at the very least be able to leave his apartment whenever he wants to. Even if she will more than likely avoid him from now on.

He supposes it could be a lot worse.

“I’m really sorry,” he offers, realizing it isn’t much.

“Yeah.” She’s biting her lip, still _looking_ at him as if she’s trying to work out some sort of puzzle, and he decides it’s probably best he get the fuck out of there before she changes her mind.

“Anyway,” he holds up his package. “I’d better get this back. I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” Fucking Christ, does she _have_ to look at him like that? “I guess I will.”

He ducks his head awkwardly as he goes to move past her, feeling his face still flaming and resisting the urge to break out in a run again. He’s almost past the landing when she stops him.

“Wait.”

He turns, finding her looking up at him from her place on the steps and he gives her a confused look. “Yeah?”

“I know how you can make it up to me.”

 _Fuck._ She’s going to make him do something ridiculous. Beat up an ex (good luck there, he’s never been in a fight in his entire life), watch her _cat (_ shudder), oh God, what if she—

“Have dinner with me.”

He reels, not expecting _that_ at all. “What?”

“Come over tomorrow night. Since you know where I live.” She’s grinning now, and Ben is fairly certain he looks like a goldfish with the way his mouth is opening and closing steadily in shock.

“You want to have dinner?”

“Yes.”

“With me?”

“ _Yes.”_ She laughs a little. “I feel like I should find out a little more about you— before I decide for sure that you aren’t a creep. You know, protect women’s underwear everywhere.”

She wants to have dinner. With him. Alone. In her apartment. Even though he’s seen her underwear. Even though he’s _held_ them. He thinks his brain might short-circuit.

 _Say no. Say_ no _, Ben. Do_ not _push your luck._

“Okay.”

_Fuck._

She’s nodding happily, and he’s staring at her mouth and fuck if this isn’t the best and worst thing he’s ever agreed to and he is both nauseous and elated and it’s not a pleasant experience for his stomach.

“Great.” She gives a final nod as if to affirm this, and he’s still having a hard time tearing his eyes away from her mouth. “So, say, six o’clock tomorrow night?”

“Six is great.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

There is an awkward silence where neither of them move to leave. It is only when she clears her throat that he is torn from his stupor.

“Well.” She hitches a thumb behind her. “I’m this way.”

“Yeah. Right. I should get going.”

She gives him another shy grin before he has to force himself to turn away, still slightly in shock from how this turned out. He keeps waiting for her to say she’s just kidding.

“Oh. Hey, Ben?”

He turns back once more. Fuck, here it comes. “Yeah?”

“I have to ask— why didn’t you just throw them away or something?”

He can’t help it, he laughs. “You know, I’ve been asking myself that exact same question.”

* * *

 _It’s fine,_ he tells himself. _Don’t be nervous._

 _She_ invited _you. She_ wants _you here._

 If he repeats this enough in his head— he just might start to believe it.

 His knock on her door is more sure this time— even if it is filled with the same level of nerves as the first time. They exist for another reason now, because he is now _very aware_ of who lives behind this door, and isn’t that just a little more terrifying than not knowing?

_She wants you here. Suck it up, Solo._

 She opens the door then, smiling brightly— and damnit if it doesn’t knock the wind out of him just a bit.  

“Hey.” She gestured him inside. “You made it.”

She says this almost like she’s surprised, and honestly, if she knew just how many conversations with himself he’d had that had almost ended with him _not_ coming _—_ well. He doesn’t exactly blame her for sounding surprised.

“Yeah,” he offers. “I came.”

 “I hope you like Chinese… we’re eating on a college student budget here.”

“Oh, I could have—”

She waves him off. “Don’t even. I invited _you.”_

_Still wondering why— but yes. Yes she did._

“I love Chinese.”

She looks relieved. “Perfect.”

* * *

 _This is going… surprisingly well._  

It’s been an entire hour since he showed up at her door, and not _once_ has he made a complete ass of himself. Usually at this part of the date— and admittedly he hasn’t had _many—_ he’s found a way to stick his foot in his mouth. Maybe it’s because the worst thing that could possibly happen has _already_ happened, or maybe it’s just her.

She’s so _easy_ to be around. Ben doesn’t notice the awkward pauses because, truthfully— there are none. She just seems so _interested_ in him. She’s spent the greater part of the hour barraging him with questions about himself, his major, his family, his hobbies (short conversation there)— whatever she can think of it seems. 

Normally, Ben would be hard-pressed to keep up with such ardent attention, but with Rey… it’s as easy as breathing.  

They’re on her couch now. Rey is flipping through her Netflix queue as she browses for _background noise,_ as she called it. It’s the first time she’s really been quiet since he arrived.

He decides to take full advantage.

“So you’re still in college?”

She looks up at him distractedly, nodding. “Senior this year.”

“What’s your major?”

“Engineering.”

“Oh, wow.” That seems so much more interesting than his. “That’s impressive.” 

“I’ve always loved putting things together— just seemed like the right fit.” She stalls at a place in her queue. “Is The Office okay?”

“Oh, sure.” He shrugs. “I’ve never actually seen it.”

“ _What?”_

She looks genuinely wounded by this, and he feels his eyebrows raise slightly. “Is that a dealbreaker?”

“Are you kidding? That’s a capital crime. It might be worse than stealing my underwear.”

“I didn’t _steal—”_

She bursts out laughing. “I’m just kidding. Well, about that anyway. It is _definitely_ a crime. Now you’re going to have to keep coming over so I can ensure you watch the entire thing.”

His stomach swoops a little that (even flippantly) she is already making plans to see him again— and he tells himself to be cool about this.

_Don’t say anything stupid._

“I’m sure I’d keep coming over anyway.”

 _Fuck, what did we_ just _say?_

He feels his ears heat, immediately realizing how lame he sounds and trying to gloss over it. “I mean— not that you’d let me. Or even _ask_ me— I just meant that— _fuck_.”

To his surprise, Rey is just grinning at him, her teeth working at her bottom lip and her eyes crinkling at the corners and she looks so damned _pretty_ like this it’s no wonder that he can’t keep his wits about him.

“Do you know the first time I saw you?”

He reels for a moment. He hadn’t expected such a sharp change of subject, and he’s sure it’s written all over his face. “No?”

“It was the day you moved in.” She turns inwards to face him, elbow resting on the back of the couch, and she’s just _looking_ at him but he’s sort of looking at her _mouth_ now and _damnit, Ben pay attention._

He forces his gaze to her eyes as he nods for her to continue.

“So, you were standing there with your boxes and all your shit and you looked frazzled as hell. I was coming up the sidewalk when I noticed an old woman heading up the steps to the front door. There you were right behind her with your arms full and still so damned _frazzled_ and then you surprised the fuck out of me.”

He remembers the day she’s talking about. His first interview had been that morning, the movers had lost an _entire box_ of his shit that to this day he’s never located and yes, he was very frazzled.

“You put down your boxes,” she continues, “and you jumped in front of that lady, and you helped her inside.”

“It was no big deal…” he mutters in embarrassment. “I’m sure anyone would have.” 

“They wouldn’t though,” she argues. “And I know it was small, but here you were, this huge guy who was obviously having a bad day, and still your first instinct was to be kind to someone and honestly… I’ve been hoping you’d say hi to me ever since then.”

He swallows nervously. “You have been?”

“Mhm.” She inches just a little closer. “I didn’t think the first time I actually talked to you would be _quite_ so fantastic… but I think my first instincts were right about you.”

He can’t stop noticing the way she keeps shifting towards his side of the couch, and he feels a distracting fluttering in his stomach and his hands are sweating just a little but she’s so _close_ now.

“I mean, I _hope_ so— but I have annoying qualities too. I mean _obviously_ I don’t know how to handle a normal fucking inconvenience, otherwise our first meeting wouldn’t have been me on your entryway with your _panties_ in my pocket and I wouldn't have—” 

Her fingers in his hair shuts him right up, and _fuck_ the way she’s smiling at him, and she’s _right_ there and—

“I like you, Ben.”

His throat goes a little dry. “You do?”

“Mhm.” He can feel the warmth of her thigh pressed against his and now he’s _definitely_ staring at her mouth but it’s _so close._ “Do you like me?”

“Yes.” 

It’s all he can say really, when she’s this close. His brain isn’t capable of much else.

“Good.”

The moment between _before_ she is kissing him and _when_ she is kissing him seems to pass in slow motion. When she _is—_ it makes him want to go back to _months_ ago and tell her hello in every language that exists. Knowing he could have been doing _this_ for _months_ — it makes every day between the first one and now seem wasted.

Her lips are _so soft_ and they move against his sweetly— as if testing. As if she is almost as unsure as he is.

He has done this before, but never has he felt like _this—_ like the room has disappeared. Like nothing else exists but him and her and _this._

When her tongue licks at the seam of his mouth, he can’t help the groan that escapes him. Nor can he help the way his hand encircles her waist because she is still _right there_ after all. Rey doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he is _certain_ of this, because the minute his hand rests there she is moving— her thighs straddling his lap as she pulls him closer.

 _This_ he is definitely not used to.

She is _everywhere—_ her hands, her tongue, _her—_ wrapped around him in a way he never imagined, but it’s _so good_ he can’t think straight.  He can only really focus on the warmth of her tongue in his mouth— even if the warmth of her _body_ pressed against him demands his attention as well.

It’s inevitable, really— what happens then. He thinks maybe it is the way her fingers tug at his hair, or maybe it is the way she licks into his mouth, her tongue brushing along his teeth. _Certainly_ the heat emanating between them as she rolls her hips against him calls for some of the blame.

It doesn’t matter, really.

What matters is he _feels_ the effect it has on him, and it is like a bucket of ice water— the fear that floods him. Worrying what she’ll think when she notices— because _that_ is inevitable too, as the problem is only _growing_ with every second that passes. Any moment _she_ will feel it too, and what will she think of him?

That he’s a pervert, probably. If not a loser. They’ve been at this less than five minutes, and here he is warring with his damned _self_.

She breaks away, and he knows this is the moment when she’ll question him. When he’ll have to _explain,_ and the anxiety that tears through him is _palpable._

He’s halfway into full-blown panic.

“Hey, Ben—”

“I should get going.”

He hadn’t meant to blurt it out so suddenly.

There’s confusion on her face now, and it’s morphing into something almost like _hurt,_ and he wishes he could take it back— but it’s out there now. Hanging between them awkwardly, and all he can think about is _getting her off his lap_ before this gets any worse.

“What?”

He hates the look on her face. _Hates_ that he put it there. “Yeah… I have an early interview.” _Lie. “_ So it’s probably best I get on home.” _Another lie._

She still looks so confused— but she’s moving from his lap and he can’t stop it now. He wastes no time in standing— and in a _blur_ he’s telling her goodnight and moving from her apartment, and by the time he’s standing outside her _closed_ door— he isn’t even entirely sure how he got there.

 _Fuck._  

Him and his _goddamn_ mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, Erney! Ben had to do something dumb, (not only because this is _Ben_ we’re talking about) but also because I’m setting myself up for something silly that will end in all the deflowering and I hope you’re still with me because this is SO SILLY. ❤️😂


	3. Focus, Solo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter but that’s because the next is just going to be wall to wall loss of virginity. *purrs*  
> (Also, I upped the chapter count because I got an epilogue idea in my head. 🙈)

One day.

He’d had _one day_ of liberation from his self-imposed exile to his living room— and he’d managed to fuck it up in the span of an hour.

He’s living in some sort of hermit-like state now— surviving on the last bit of Frosted Flakes in his cabinet and bad daytime television. It’s been three days since he left Rey’s apartment with a shoddy excuse and an even lamer goodbye— and already he’s resorted to avoiding the situation again.

He isn’t sure how he’s survived adult life thus far.

It would be easy— to travel upstairs and knock on her door. To tell her that he panicked because _no he’s never done this before_ and the thought of _that look_ on her face had scared the shit out of him.

You know the one.

Something like confusion at first— wondering how it’s possible that someone his age who’d had a fairly normal college experience has made it this far without pulling off the tags, so to speak. Then it might morph into some uncomfortable expression, because how _embarrassing._

He lets his head fall back against the couch, blowing out a frustrated stream of air.

He should have just _talked_ to her.

She’d felt so _good—_ pressed against him sweetly and her _mouth_ as it moved over his and _fuck—_ he is angry at himself all over again. He knows everything about his current plan is pointless— that eventually he will _have_ to leave this apartment and it is _inevitable_ that he see her again, because that’s just how the universe seems to treat him.

It’s only a matter of time.

For now though, he will sit on this couch, and he will wallow in his own pathetic self-pity, because what the fuck else can he do?

He doesn’t know how much time passes between his moment of indulging in said pity party and rising from the couch— but he’s stretching now, having every intention of wandering in the kitchen for more subpar snacks.

He rounds the couch to pass his balcony door, and he is already well into the kitchen before he stops in his tracks, furrowing his brow as a realization strikes him. He takes several steps back, settling in front of the glass door and peering through to let his eyes settle on the flash of pink that he’d almost missed as he passed by.

_You’ve got to be kidding me._

A fucking pink scrap of cotton sits on the patio— stark and bright against the concrete and Ben can’t tear his eyes away from it. How is it possible that this has happened _again?_ Rey really needs to find a better way to dry her damned delicates.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring down at the tiny pile of pink that has his insides twisting, but eventually he opens the door. He leans out warily, peeking up at her balcony above and sure enough— finds a line of tiny underthings strung neatly there and _fuck_ now he is remembering her in his lap and he wonders briefly just _how far down_ it is from his balcony to the ground before he quietly tells himself to stop being so dramatic.

He sighs wearily as he bends to pick up Rey’s underwear— quickly backing up into his apartment and holding the bit of fabric in his hand. A look at the back reveals a bright yellow _Shake It Off_ stamped across the rear— and he groans thinking of the words draped across her ass as she does just that.

He definitely learned his lesson last time— knowing he will _not_ be returning them this time. He will throw them away— and that will be that. He turns the bit of cotton over in his hands once more, jaw working in thought before he looks up at the ceiling. He shakes his head, hating himself just a little but not letting it stop him from tucking the underwear in his pocket to tuck away somewhere… safe.

It’s pathetic, and maybe a little creepy— but at least this time she’ll never know.

* * *

It happens again the next day.

They’re white this time— and they’re… barely anything at all. There is a motherfucking _string_ where the ass should be— and god help him if he doesn’t consider doing terrible things to the thought of Rey in these.

How the _fuck_ does this keep happening? Is the universe really out to get him now? Sure, he made some dumb choices and probably ruined things with the girl of his dreams— but is _torture_ really necessary?

He isn’t even surprised at himself when he tucks these away also. It’s for safekeeping after all— or at least that’s what he tells himself. Deep down he knows he is just clinging to the only _literal_ scrap of connection he has to her.

He has spent too much money on Uber Eats at this point, he has lost every bit of the shame he has left— but he thinks to himself that it has to end soon. The chances of this continuing to happen is astronomical at best. Eventually— his luck has to improve.

Except it doesn’t.

Because it happens again. And again. _And again._

By the end of the week— Ben is the creepy owner of _five pairs_ of Rey’s underwear and honestly at this point— he’s just exhausted. From trying not to abuse them, from stressing over what he should fucking _do with them,_ even agonizing whether or not he should just _fucking go up there._

It’s impossible.

The entire fucking _thing_ is impossible.

Ben thinks he might be losing his mind.

He is at his wits end now, low on food, patience, _sanity—_ because at this point he knows exactly what Rey’s underwear _smell like_ and yes he is fully aware just how repulsive he is for pressing them to his nose.

He’s only human, after all.

He wonders how it is possible that Rey hasn’t _noticed_ the shortage of her underthings at this point. Surely she doesn’t own such a surplus of panties that she simply isn’t even _aware_ that she’s missing a damn _week’s worth_. Is that even remotely possible?

But it is, apparently.

He’s dressed today, not in sweatpants and an old t-shirt but _actual_ adult clothes because _damnit, he is a full-grown man_ and he will not be intimidated by a small woman and her underwear. No matter how much the entire situation makes him want to throw up a little. If he sees her, well— he’ll deal with it. Poorly, most likely— but he will deal with it. He’s run out of food— and he refuses to be a captive in his own apartment any longer.

He grabs his keys, lingering one last time near the door because _good_ _God, what are the chances she’s just outside_ but no, _no—_ that is ridiculous.

 _Get a fucking_ grip _._

The hall is blessedly empty when he steps out of his apartment, and he can’t help but sigh in relief. Admittedly there _had_ been a tiny part of him that had worried she might somehow be waiting for him out here— but he is happy to find that no, that is in fact, ridiculous.

He locks the door behind him, absently reaching into the mail slot just beside and frowning when there is something soft amidst the stiff letters. He turns to peer inside, and the flash of _very familiar_ red lace startles him.

_What the fuck?_

He pulls it out gingerly, struck with déjà vu as he stretches the fabric between his fingers. He imagines he looks rather dumbstruck in that moment, feeling at a loss as to _how_ or _why_ or even _when—_

Then it seems to hit him all at once.

He blushes furiously, realizing that there’s no possible way _this_ had been an accident, and if _this_ hadn’t been… had _any_ of this last week been? Was she— was she making fun of him? Was this her way of getting back at him?

He isn’t sure what he is more of— embarrassed or angry.

He huffs out a breath, deciding that food can wait because _honestly, how dare she—_ and he turns on his heel in search of the stairs. He stomps up each step with much more force than necessary, grumbling under his breath about _honest mistake_ and _was this really necessary_ and _didn’t think she was like this_

By the time he makes it to her door, his ears are hot, he’s sweating a little (but at least this time it isn’t from nerves), and he’s pounding on her door with none of the uncertainty of the last time he’d been here. He hears her inside, only a flicker of anxiety licking at the hot embarrassed anger that is currently ruling the show.

He’d thought that his frustration would take the edge off of seeing her again— would make it less likely that she would knock the wind out of him because _how is she so pretty._ But she’s standing there now, and his mouth is hanging open and he isn’t entirely even sure why he came _up here_ for just a moment— and then it comes rushing back.

“I need you to stop what you’re doing.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He nods, trying not to focus on her mouth and her eyes and even the bit of _collarbone_ at her neckline is distracting and—

_Focus, Solo._

“It’s not funny anymore,” he huffs.

She wrinkles her nose. “I never intended for it to be.”

“Obviously you did. I’m not sure when you put it together that I— that I’ve never— that I’m _inexperienced.”_ He can’t help but cringe at the word because honestly that’s not too many steps above _blushing virgin._ “But I didn’t take you for the type to make _fun_ of me for it.”

She looks genuinely confused then. “Ben, I—”

“I really liked you, you know?” His words are propelling out of him now, catapulting from his mouth like Olympic divers and he is helpless to stop them. “I know I’ve been a dumbfuck about it and the idea of talking to you was probably the most nerve-wracking thing of my entire adult life because _just look at you._ I didn’t handle our date well because you were _touching me,_ and God, if it wasn’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me and—”

“ _Ben.”_

He isn’t going to let her cut in now, he’s on a roll with this pathetic soliloquy and it’s like a _poison_ now and he just has to get it _out._

“I just need you to know that I _know_ I’m not very good at this, but I’m _not_ a creep by any means and I _don’t_ deserve for you to _torment_ me with this—”

He isn’t able to say anymore.

Honestly, in that moment he doesn’t even _want_ to.

Because he can’t get the words out— with the way her body collides with his. With the way her mouth covers his own and _her tongue_ as it swipes across the seam of his mouth, and of _course_ he opens for her, because it’s _her,_ and _what had he even been angry about?_

His hands close around her waist, and he’s _gripping_ her there because she’s close, but he wants her _closer,_ and _fuck_ does she _smell_ good—

Then he remembers why he’s here. He realizes they are both just standing outside her door in the _hallway,_ and he’s practically _mauling_ her, but she’d started it really, and—

He breaks away abruptly, trying to catch his breath.

The way she’s looking at him— half-lidded, eyes dreamy and mouth soft, and his body is _screaming_ at him to just kiss her again— but his confusion wins out.

“What are you doing?”

One corner of her mouth curls in a grin. “Kissing you.”

“ _Why?”_

“Because you wouldn’t shut up.”

Words are failing him, his mouth gapes open, and she’s still _touching_ him— did she really just kiss him like that?

“I don’t understand what’s happening right now.”

“Well, I’m still _trying_ to kiss you but you’re still _talking.”_

“Explain the underwear.” He can’t help it, it’s been eating at him since he began the angry trek up to her apartment and he’d been _so sure_ it had been a prank of some sort and now he’s just confused. “Why?”

“I was trying to get your attention,” she admits. “It seemed to work the first time.”

“So you—?”

“No, no, the first time was complete dumb luck. Although, I’m not bothered. Obviously.”

“But then you…”

“Started tossing them myself? Yes. Until that obviously wasn’t working. So I had to step it up a notch.”

“ _Why?”_

She shrugs, grinning. “Had to get you back up here _somehow._ ”

“You could have _knocked.”_

 _“You_ could have just thrown the underwear away in the first place.”

Okay, that’s fair. He can’t exactly argue— and he supposes turnabout is fair play when insanity is involved. And this is. Insanity, that is.

It is nothing like what he’d expected when he stomped up here.

“So you… you wanted me up here.”

She nods. “Yes.”

“Even after I was a total idiot at your place. Twice.”

“Yes.”

“I… wow.”

She grins, nodding her head back to her still open apartment. “Would you like to come inside?”

It doesn’t even take him a fraction of a second to answer.

“Yes. Yes, I would.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet, sweet loss of virginity.  
> (Also this is without a doubt the silliest thing I’ve ever written— and I’ve written some silly shit. 😂)


	4. You Can Do This, Solo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me nearly 4000 words to pop this boy’s cherry— apologies for the wait. 😂

He’d expected them to talk.

He’d thought that he would follow her inside— and calmly discuss the lace-insanity that has plagued him this last week. He’d practiced at least a dozen quick-paced discussions in his head in the span of the forty seconds it had taken him to shuffle inside her apartment.

It turns out it had all been unnecessary.

Because she’s kissing him again— slim fingers smooth over his shirt, soft lips press against his, a tiny waist fits against his own and _oh—_ this is what got him into trouble before.

But she’s so _perfect—_ molded to him like a piece to his puzzle.

He vaguely registers the way his fingers grip her waist— but she’s _arching_ into him and there is a _sound_ she’s making that is _nothing_ like protest and Ben just wants to _keep hearing it._ Her little fingers curl into his hair, her tongue sweeping across his lower lip and _that feels so good too_.

He’s pressed into her couch, her legs straddling his as she hovers above him. He is hyper aware of the way she smells and certainly the way she _tastes_ and he can’t help but wonder how he got so lucky. He lets his hands wander tentatively, spurred by the little sounds she makes in response and reveling in the way she melts into his touch.

No one has ever craved Ben’s touch, but Rey— well, she seems like she might. It’s enough to make him dizzy.

Unfortunately, there are parts of Ben that very much crave Rey’s touch as well. It’s the same as before— a steady progression of blood flow that leaves his jeans tenting and he _knows_ she can feel it and he might be embarrassed if she weren’t _kissing_ him like this but it’s only a matter of time before she—

He jolts when she rolls her hips into him, and even through denim and whatever soft material her shorts are made of there is a _heat_ there that makes his breath shallow.

She breaks away, nibbling softly at his lower lip as she rolls against him again. His breath catches, his fingers tensing their hold against her skin and _fuck_ if it isn’t hard to keep the tiny shred of control he’s hanging onto.

“ _Rey,_ I—” He swallows thickly. “I’m sorry I— if you keep doing that—”

She presses her lips to his sweetly, effectively shutting him up. “Don’t apologize. I’m not bothered at all.”

“You just— you feel so _good_ and I—” He clenches his lips together, drawing in an unsteady breath through his nostrils before blowing it out through his mouth. “I can’t help it.”

“I’ve actually thought about it.”

His heart skips a beat, or maybe three— he can’t be sure.

“Thought… about it?”

She nods. “You’re just so— _big_ and I wondered if— well. I’ve thought about it.”

His mouth is dry and his pulse is _pounding in his ears_ because is she saying she’s thought about his— about his—

He feels her fingers trail along the waistband of his jeans, a fingernail lightly scratching at his hip beneath and his eyes flutter closed as he enjoys the sensation.

“You know,” she starts quietly. “I don’t actually care that you’ve never— well. You know.”

His eyes snap open. “You don’t?”

She shakes her head. “I haven’t either. Not all the way, at least.”

“Really?” Something inside him is loosening, some hot ball of nerves that had been coiled tight. “Never?”

“Never,” she confirms. “I guess it never felt right.”

“For me too,” he breathes. “I just never wanted— there was never anyone I wanted to—”

“But I might want to,” she tells him, so quietly that he could almost miss it, and yet it is _deafening_ as it rolls around inside his head. “With you.”

“We don’t have to... I really like you, Rey. Nothing has to happen here.”

“I know,” she grins. “How about I help you out with your ah, _problem—”_ She shifts her hips against his cock that is straining at the denim and he groans. “And we’ll see what happens?”

_Did she just offer to help him out?_

He’s still trying to process what _that_ could mean as she scrambles down his body, her legs coming to straddle his calves, and her fingers working at the button of his jeans.

_Jesus Christ, does she really mean that she wants to—_

He thinks he might possibly be dead— no other explanation for his cock in her hands and the way she’s _touching_ him and he’s so _hot_ and nothing has _ever felt this good._

He can’t see her for the way his eyes are shut tight and his face is surely screwed up in the most ridiculous expression but _her fingers_ are wrapped around him and she’s _stroking him_ lightly and _fuck_ if it isn’t the most torturous pleasure he’s ever felt.

“You know I wondered if you’d be proportionate,” she says thickly. “God, Ben. You’re so _big.”_

He would make an audio file of that and set his morning alarm to it if he could because _fucking hell_ it's the hottest thing he’s ever heard. His eyes are open now, unable to tear them away from the sight of her hand at his cock and the flash of pink that is her tongue as it swipes across her lower lip. She looks up at him almost shyly— pulling her lip between her teeth.

“I could— if you _want_ that is— I don’t have to—”

_Is she asking to…?_

“Rey,” he chokes out. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

She bites back a grin, her fist squeezing him at the base before running a slow path to the head and he _feels_ the little beads of fluid escaping there. _Feels_ the way he twitches in her hand.

He wonders if she’s ever done _this_ before, but he quickly pushes they thought away because all that matters is she wants to do this with _him._ She leans over slowly, feeling the warmth of her breath against his cock and he’s gripping the couch cushions so hard they might _tear_ but she’s so _close—_

_“Fuck.”_

The word hisses out of him, his teeth gnashed together because her _tongue_ presses to the underside of him and she’s _licking_ at him like he’s a motherfucking ice cream cone. She makes a slow path up his length, cresting over the head and lingering there just before she pulls him into her mouth.

He realizes then just how much of a mistake this is.

There is absolutely _no way_ he can last like this— with her lips around the head of his cock as she sucks softly. Already he can feel that deep pressure building, swelling dangerously and he knows he won’t be able to hold out much longer. Not like this.

“ _Rey—”_ He hates how his voice comes out like a _whine—_ but in this moment he can’t do much about it. “I’m not going to— I _can’t—”_

She pulls away, the slick _pop_ that sounds possibly enough to make him come all in it’s own. “It’s okay.” Her eyes seem hooded and dark and he wonders if _she’s_ affected by this. “I just want to make you feel good, Ben.”

_Make him feel good?_

She’s making him feel like an orgasm with a face, but that’s beside the point.

“I just—”

“ _Shh.”_ The sound practically vibrates against his dick, her mouth _so fucking close._ “Just relax.”

Then she takes him inside again, her tongue pressing to the underside of his shaft as she _pushes_ and _pushes—_ taking him deep until her lips meet her fist that is still wrapped tight around the base of him. She hollows her cheeks as she comes back up, suctioning to his cock and she might as well be taking his life force with him because _he feels like he might be dying._

“ _Oh my God,”_ he groans. “ _Rey.”_

It’s heaven. It’s _torture_. She’s still _moving._

She bobs up and down his cock at a steady rhythm now, making little sounds as she goes and Ben wants to collect each one and put them on a shelf somewhere because _it sounds like she enjoys it too._

He can’t stop watching her.

The way her pink lips stretch around him, the slick shine of her saliva as it leaves a trail along his cock— even the way her eyes flick to his every so often, stormy and glazed and _yes, he thinks she’s actually enjoying this._

That’s what does it in the end.

A moan escaping her, reverberating against his cock just as she’s pulling him deep— and Ben is off without time to even warn her.

Rey sputters a little as he coats her tongue, coming up surprised even as it shoots from him to paint her lips and chin and he can’t even _stop it_ because it _feels too fucking good._

He’s mortified when it’s done— even if admittedly also heavily turned on by the sight of his spend on her skin— and he immediately scrambles to rectify it.

“ _Fuck.”_ He reaches for the first thing he can think of, wrenching his t-shirt over his head and hastily wiping at her face. “I’m so fucking sorry. I just— I couldn’t— you just felt so _good—”_

Her hand moves to cover his own, stilling his efforts as he’s still trying to clean off the evidence of his own embarrassment. She actually _smiles_ at him, pushing upwards to press her mouth against his and he can’t help the way his eyes flutter closed or the soft sound that escapes him.

“It’s okay,” she breathes against his mouth. “I’m not mad.”

He feels her hands at his chest, smoothing down his abdomen to trail over the muscle there. He tenses under her touch, groaning softly and dropping the shirt he’s holding to reach for her waist. He pulls her tighter, his lips finding hers and her _tongue_ is a goddamned _drug_ in the way it makes him dizzy.

He is fully aware that his spent cock still rests against his jeans that are haphazardly gapped apart, just as much as he is aware that if this continues— it won’t take long for him to be at full attention again. She just feels so _good_ — it’s her taste and her scent and her sounds and they blend together to form some sort of clouded pleasure that is almost too much to take.

Almost.

He doesn’t know how long they remain like that— Ben half-dressed and pulling her close as he explores her mouth— but her teeth nibble at his lower lip and her tongue swipes across it to soothe and then she’s _looking_ at him with a heavy-lidded stare that he wants to commit to memory.

“That didn’t take long,” she murmurs, reaching to let a finger trail over his length that is rising between them.

“I’m sorry,” he groans. “I didn’t—”

She nips at his lower lip a little harder, and he goes silent. “Stop apologizing.”

Her hand covers his, pulling it between them to let it flatten below her navel. She pushes it beneath the band of her shorts, and he holds his breath as she urges him to keep going. He slides it lower, his fingers tuck under the lacy edge of her underwear, and then there is a slick heat that coats his fingers because she is _so wet._

“God, Rey. You’re—” He swallows, curling a finger _just so_ and he can _feel_ the way it begins to slip inside and _fuck—_ he could come all over again just like this. “You’re so fucking _wet_.”

He watches her face as he pushes his finger inside just a little, feeling her tighten around him to the knuckle and she draws in a heavy breath before releasing it slowly. Her mouth parts then, her eyes shutting and reopening before she makes some soft whimper in the back of her throat.

“Ben,” she starts hoarsely. “I think I— do you think you’d want to—”

“Rey, _fuck— of course I do—_ but we don’t— nothing has to happen.”

“I think I want to.”

“You think?”

She leans in, kissing him slowly as her tight channel  clenches around his finger again. “I do.”

“ _Fuck, Rey.”_

He scrambles a little, moving from the couch and taking her with him as he pulls her to his chest, her legs wrapping around his waist. She’s still _kissing him_ — her hips moving against him and his cock is still hard against her belly and he’s _trying_ to find her bedroom but she’s _very little help right now._

It’s a blessing when he pushes through her bedroom door, only slightly distracted by the bright pink of her comforter before he spreads her out on top of it. His fingers are shaking only slightly as he reaches for her shirt, her arms going up dutifully as he pulls it over her head and _fuck— she isn’t wearing anything underneath._

Her tits are perfect little handfuls that he thinks he might could fit his mouth around, and he brushes a thumb against her nipple without thinking. She shudders a little, some full-bodied shiver that is _fantastic_ and he does it again just to elicit the same response.

He is all too-aware that his cock is still bobbing heavily between them, still needy and _hungry_ but he is focused on her right now. She’s so _beautiful—_ her skin slightly flushed and her chest rising and falling heavily and her _mouth_ parted as her eyes watch him explore.

“Can I…?”

“ _Yes,”_ she hisses. “Touch me.”

He ducks his head, pressing his tongue to one taut bud and groaning when her fingers find his hair and her breath turns shallow. He licks a slow circle, testing and teasing and when he pulls it into his mouth to suck he finds that _yes—_ he can fit the entire mound in his mouth if he tries.

Rey doesn’t seem to mind.

She’s squirming beneath him, her hips pressing into his hard cock and _God,_ he’s so glad he came already even if it was disastrous. He wants to last. He wants to enjoy her for as long as he’s able.

He can’t stop mouthing at her nipple, licking and sucking and _tugging_ with his lips and she’s _writhing_ and _gasping_ and he doesn’t even know what he’s doing really but _her sounds_ spur him on.

If he does nothing else right— at least he has this.

But then her knees come around his waist and his cock slots against her shorts and he can _feel_ the heat there when he cants his hips and her _breath_ catches and it’s so much. _Too much._

“Can I see all of you?” His words are muffled against her skin, unable to stop devoting attention to her nipple long enough to speak clearly.

He looks up to see her nodding— _desperately, even—_ and her quiet assent slips out of her and that’s all he needs, really.

He is probably too forceful, too _eager,_ in the way he tugs her shorts and her underwear from her body. In the way he tosses them aside, but he can’t focus on it because she’s _so pretty—_ her cunt soft and pink and _wet_ and _he did that._

“You’re—” He swallows, scrambling for the right word. “ _Perfect.”_

It’s inadequate, really, and not near enough to describe what she _is—_ but it’s the closest he can grasp in this moment.

He can’t tear his eyes away from between her legs now, and his hands are _definitely_ shaking now as he reaches amidst them to run his fingers through her slit. It’s so _wet_ and _warm_ here— coating his fingers and when he presses one inside she actually _gasps_ and _fuck—_ he does a little too.

“God, it’s so… so fucking _tight.”_

She grips his finger, her slick inner walls tightening around him and all he can think about is his _cock_ inside her and what it will _feel like_ and he might not actually _survive_ this.

“Rey, I don’t— _fuck—”_ She rolls her hips in a way that his finger pushes deeper, and it could _ruin him_ how hot she is inside. “I don’t have condoms or anything. Do you…?”

She shakes her head, and he feels his crushing disappointment because she feels so _good_ but then she’s clarifying quickly. “I’m on birth control… I assume you’re clean?”

He chokes out a laugh, because he couldn’t be cleaner if he bathed in Dawn soap seven times a day at this point. “Yes, that’s a safe assumption.”

“We could— if you _want_ to we don’t have to—”

“God, yes. Fucking _please.”_ He sounds as desperate as he feels— because he is afraid at any second she’ll change her mind. That she’ll realize there are so many others she would be better off giving this gift to but _he wants it for himself._

_You can do this, Solo._

Her hands finds his jeans and she is pushing and tugging and he just lets her until all he has to do is kick everything away and then there is nothing between them but skin and sweat and _everything else_ he can’t get enough of.

He covers her to pull her in for a kiss, tasting the softness of her mouth even as his cock slides between her folds and _how is it so warm._

He’s going to burst before he can get inside her.

“Rey, are you— are you sure you want this? With me?”

She loops her arms around his neck, pulling him back in to mesh her mouth to his as her legs come around his waist. “Put it in.”

He swallows, propping up on her arms to look between them, reaching for his cock that is _painfully hard_ at this point— flicking his eyes to her as he tries to line himself up with her entrance. He feels the head catch there, holding his breath as he pushes forward just a fraction, the bulbous end slipping inside snugly until it is swallowed up.

“ _Ah,”_ she whimpers. “That’s so—”

“ _Tight,”_ he grits out to finish. “Are you okay?”

His pulse is a thundering beat in his ears because he wants to surge forward but he wants her to feel everything he’s feeling. To _enjoy_ it.

But it’s torture.

She nods. “G-go slow.”

He does, feeding inch after slow inch and she _grips_ every bit like an offering even as there is a bit of resistance and her face screws tight and he’s kissing her soundly to soothe. But then her expression softens, and he’s _inside her_ now, and his entire body shakes with the effort to be still. To resist moving. There is an instinct now that is taking over, that tells him what to do— and he’s fighting it with everything he has.

His forehead rests against hers, breathing shakily. “Tell me how you feel.”

“It's a lot,” she admits quietly. “You’re so big.”

“God, Rey you feel so fucking good I might actually be dying. Is it good for you?”

She nods her head. “It’s tight, but it feels good too.”

“Tell me when I can move. I’m trying so hard to be still but _fuck_ I could come right now. I’m so sorry.”

She tilts her chin, finding his mouth and kissing him slowly. “Move. I want you to.”

He withdraws at a slow pace, feeling every wet ridge press against him as he goes. He has to bite his lip so hard he could draw blood, just to keep from losing it from this alone. When he pushes back inside— he knows he doesn’t have long of this.

“ _Rey_ ,” he grates. “Can you— can you touch yourself? I’m so sorry— there’s no way I can last but I— I want you to come. I want to feel you come.”

He feels her hand snake between them, finding that place he knows exists that will take her to the edge with him and then _moving_ in a way that threatens to set him off faster. He feels the tips of her fingers grazing his cock as he strokes into her, his movements slightly awkward

And stuttered but enough to have his cock swelling and his blood roaring and _almost there—_ he’s _almost there._

“Rey— _Rey.”_ It’s back to a whine now, his voice. “Are you— are you close?”

She nods frantically. “Just like that. Keep moving like that. It feels _so good_ now.”

_Fucking shit to high hell he wants to keep her forever._

“I’m going to come,” he rasps. “ _Fuck_ , I’m going to come in you.”

“You can,” she breathes. “I want to feel it.”

He holds out by some miracle, pleading with his cock to hold on a few more seconds because he can _feel_ the way she grows tighter and he thinks maybe she’s— she could be—

He makes it about three-fourths of a second after the moment she begins to quiver around him— her cunt growing hotter and wetter and _squeezing at him_ and he prays this means it’s okay to let go.

It’s such a _relief_ — like a full-body sigh as his cock twitches and empties to fill her up to a point where he can feel it leaking out of her to wet his hips.

He doesn’t even mind because this has to be the peak moment of his life.

He’s kissing her like a crazy person— her mouth, her eyes, her cheeks— skirting over her jaw to continue on to anywhere he can reach. He hears his incessant _thank you_ as he presses it into her skin because it’s a fucking _gift_ she’s given him and he doesn’t know if he deserves it but he’s _so fucking grateful._

She’s breathing as hard as he is, her eyes closed and her mouth open and he’s holding her so tight he might actually be crushing her but she doesn’t seem to mind as far as he can tell.

It’s an actual loss when he slips out of her— his mind already wondering when they can do it again but he rolls to his side to pull her close and he’s still kissing her a little— he’s just moved to her temple and her hair and whatever else he can reach at this angle.

He spares a glance downward, praying he finds her as happy as he feels. “Was it okay?”

She grins up at him, her lip between her teeth and he breathes a sigh of relief because _yes_ — she seems happy also.

“I think it was perfect.”

Perfect.

_Perfect._

He can live with that.

“How do you feel?”

She laughs softly. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow— but in a good way I think.”

“I shouldn’t be so happy to hear that.”

“You’re a guy,” she giggles. “I think it’s expected.”

He kisses her forehead, just because he can. “I don’t ever want to leave this bed.”

“Well we have to eat at some point,” she points out. “But… we could always come back to it.”

“I will come back to his awful pink bed for as many times as you’ll let me.”

She scratches his hip indignantly, and he lurches away with a grin. “I like my blanket,” she grumbles. “But I’ll let you come back if you stop insulting it.”

“I can probably do that,” he murmurs, finding her mouth again. He just can’t seem to stop _kissing_ her.

It is her that breaks away, brow furrowed in question. “So, Ben… what did you _do_ with my underwear?”

He clenches his lips together, looking away guiltily. “You will never know.”

She grins up at him wickedly, and he feels both terror and delight.

“Mm,” she hums. “We’ll see.”

She might be a little evil.

He might just love it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this satisfies your inner succubus. 🙃  
> Just an epilogue left! (And almost time to come clean. Any guesses yet, sweet Erney? 😘)


	5. You’ve Got This, Solo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet epilogues are sort of my thing— but these two deserved a cute little HEA.

* * *

 

He still hates ties.

Absolutely can’t stand them.

He resists the urge to fiddle at his collar, thinking to himself that at least this helps bring home a paycheck. No one had been more surprised than him when he’d gotten a callback nearly two weeks after his interview— and even though it _was_ an entry-level position, he likes it well enough.

Even after eight months the super has still failed to get the elevator fixed, which leaves him climbing the stairs begrudgingly just as he does every other day. He even has to climb an extra floor now.

Although that part he doesn’t mind.

It’s been three months since he moved to the floor above him— an easy decision, really. Rey’s place has always felt more like a home than his ever did. Plus, the _coming home to the hottest girl alive_ part isn’t so bad either.

At least now when her underwear occupy his drawers, it’s because she accidentally put them in the wrong one. Not because he’s hoarding them like some sort of perverted panty thief.

Although the first thing he’d done with his earnings is buy her a state-of-the-art washer and dryer. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of her panties fluttering away to some creep downstairs. Never mind the fact that not so long ago _he’d_ been the creep downstairs… but that’s besides the point.

When he pushes through their apartment door, he finds her tucked into the couch, focused on what looks to be another episode of The Office— go figure. He’s seen the entire series now twice, not that he’s complaining. She loves it, he loves her… it’s a symbiotic relationship.

She pushes off the cushions when she catches him coming inside. ”How was your day?”

He blows out a breath. “Long. What did you do?”

“Oh.” She waves a hand. “Got some laundry done, spoke to my advisor about graduation… not much.”

“That’s so close,” he points out. “Say, do they let you keep the cap and gown?”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Are you being a pervert?”

He laughs. “Call it making up for lost time.”

“Hm.” She shakes her head, closing the distance between them and reaching for his tie. She begins to unknot it deftly— and yes, this might be the reason he no longer wrenches them off the minute he steps out of work. He has to admit, seeing her little fingers working at the silky fabric does strange things to him. “Speaking of…”

“What?”

She grins as she pulls the fabric through a loop. “Do you know what today is?”

He thinks back, knowing it hasn’t been long enough for any sort of anniversary type milestone— not since they’ve become a couple at least. _Shit._ What did he forget? He’s thinking so hard she can probably _hear_ it, and he feels her hand at his jaw to bring his attention back to her.

“Don’t freak out,” she laughs. “It’s been a year today since I first saw you. Since I first decided I liked you.”

“Oh.” He can’t help the slight blush or the slow grin because _fuck_ she’s sweet. “I guess it is.”

“I’d say that calls for a special occasion— wouldn’t you?”

He swallows. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, you know.” She works the tie apart finally, hands gripped on either side of the loose-hanging silk, and tugging softly. “I considered a few things.”

“Did you?” His voice is too breathless, coming out in an airy rasp as he watches her eyes darken and she presses closer to him.

She nods. “At first I thought maybe I’d buy new underwear— because wouldn’t that be fitting?”

“It would.” He swallows around the lump in his throat— suddenly too dry for comfort. _God._ He loves this woman. “It’s how we started after all.”

“It is,” she agrees. “I almost went with that.”

“You didn’t?”

She shakes her head, biting her lip. “I had a better idea.”

She pulls the tie from his neck, it falling to the ground slowly as his heart pounds behind his rib cage. “What’s that.”

She pushes up on her tiptoes, leaning in close to his ear as her fingers slowly move towards the buttons of his shirt. He feels her begin to work them apart, his eyes fluttering closed as he feels her lips hovering near the shell of his ear.

“I thought it would be more fitting to not wear any at all.”

He groans, pushing her away just a fraction to glance between them incredulously. “You’re not—?”

She shakes her head, grinning wickedly.

“All day?”

“All day.”

“ _Fuck,_ Rey.”

She closes the distance again, tugging at the hair of his nape to force him to bend, her lips brushing against his as she kisses him sweetly.

“But if you don’t believe me,” she murmurs. “You could always find out for yourself.”

He’s long since learned that she’s _definitely_ a little evil.

Just as he’s long since learned that he _definitely_ likes it.

_You’ve got this, Solo._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, erney, (who also made the adorable moodboard for this chapter ❤️) for the amazing prompt! This was so much fun— and I hope you liked it! You deserve all the panty fun. 🥰

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kylotrashforever)!  
> I made a [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/KTF_Reylo), come follow me!


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